


we love the things we love for what they are

by gentyjack



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (More tags to be added later) - Freeform, Fluff, M/M, Vignettes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-07 15:36:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21460387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gentyjack/pseuds/gentyjack
Summary: A collection of mini fluff vignettes.1. Crowley's cold in Central Park. Aziraphale offers to help.2. Crowley is sent out looking for a plant that may or may not exist
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 23





	1. a most surrealistic (and cold) place

**Author's Note:**

> 11/16/19-Woah two fics in one day say it ain't so  
this is mostly to curb the sheer amount of SADNESS I've been putting out there because y'all don't deserve that lol

_ If this is an add-on to your karmic punishment it’s a right shitty one, _Crowley cursed at the heavens. It was the midst of December, and Crowley was shivering in his five layers. Though it wouldn’t be exactly right to call the demon cold-blooded, his human body’s circulation was like that of a century old man in the middle of an Antarctic blizzard. 

In truth, it was only thirty one degrees[1], but it might as well have been the vacuum of space for all the warmth escaping his body. But, in the way of suave demons everywhere, he wasn’t cold. Of course not. Who would even suggest such an outrageous claim? 

“Crowley. You’re shivering.”

Aziraphale, that’s who.

“I’m not,” he lied through his teeth. “I’m shaking the snow off my jacket. You know I don’t look good in white.” That wasn’t exactly a lie; white most _ certainly _was not his color. However, considering it hadn’t actually snowed in several days, the lie fell a little short of its mark. Aziraphale gave him The Look™, that could’ve only meant ‘you’re shitting me right’ but said in a much more polite and calm tone. 

“And this snow,” he replied. “It came from….where….exactly?” 

“Th’ clouds? I dunno, where does snow usually come from? Geez angel, you’re supposed to be the smart one.” The Look™ intensified. Crowley shuddered under its holy gaze. 

“You’re cold. Why can’t you admit it? There’s nothing wrong with-”

“M NOT. I’m fine” His response was punctuated by a strong shiver, the type that made his teeth chatter and his entire body shake. If he could scowl at his corporeal form without looking like an idiot, he would.[2] “Okay maybe...perchance...it might be...somewhat..._ nippy _outside. But that doesn’t mean I’m dying of hypothermia, okay?” 

Oh, no. The Look™ was joined by those eyes. Those pitying, ‘dear you really are dense, aren’t you’ eyes. Damn.

They shuffled down the slushy sidewalk for a few blissfully peaceful moments, the sleet making an unappealing squelching sound under his boots. This was always when snow was at its worst. Not solid enough to pack, but not liquid enough to melt and evaporate completely. Instead it settled for soaking him to the bone, adding to the chill he was already feeling. And who makes these blasted socks so thin anyway?

Aziraphale hadn’t mentioned anything since his admittance, at least not with words. Maybe the angel had dropped the argument.

“Well I suppose I won’t offer you my coat, then,” Aziraphale suggested, somewhat smug. Crowley side-eyed him. The angel knew what he was doing. He was trying to get him to admit to something. Well he wasn’t falling for it, absolutely not. 

“Ssssuppose you won’t,” Crowley replied, already regretting the words coming out of his mouth. _ Satan _it was freezing out here. He shoved his twice-gloved hands deeper into his pockets. Maybe he should get those little charcoal warming things. That’s an idea. Was that one of his or was that from upstairs? He’d think about it more once his brain thawed a bit.

They squelched on in relative silence again for a few moments. Fucking Central Park. Whose idea was this anyway?[3] A few infernal blocks of greenery in a concrete paradise might as well be a thousand miles in this blasted weather. Crowley retreated as far into his thick black scarf as he could, willing the air to just leave him alone.

Usually around this time he would be brumating. As much as he would’ve loved to hibernate, he couldn’t keep his body asleep for so long (not since the 19th century at least). His body remained lethargic until the season changed, but his mind was forever restless. The perfect Catch 22. 

He was just getting into a really good brooding session when he felt a weight about his shoulders. Immediately he felt warmer, almost...miraculously. He looked down to see a snowy white coat draped about him like a lightly smug embrace.

“Thought you weren’t gonna offer, angel,” he said, letting in a lilt to his voice like he just proved his companion wrong. But Aziraphale was always on the uptake. 

“I didn’t offer. I _ gave _ .” Oh, if looks could kill. Crowley involuntarily pulled the jacket tighter around his shoulders. His angel was quite the space heater, and he felt himself clinging to that warmth as much as he hated to admit it. White was _ really _ not his color. How could he think that making him wear white was a good idea? This was terrible. He had an image to keep up, bless it.

But oh, it was warm.

“...thanksssss” he muttered, as quietly as possible. Aziraphale graced him with the sweetest of smiles. _ Bastard. _

“Of course, dear.” 

  
  


[1] Negative .555 degrees celsius, to be exact. Every fraction of a degree matters when you haven’t got hellfire nearby.

[2] Why did he even have a circulatory system in this corporation? It was inconvenient.

[3] It was definitely Crowley’s idea. New Yorkers are even more cranky in the cold, if you can believe it. (consider: New Yorkers are even more cranky in person, if you can believe it.) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so imma be real with you  
this fic was 1/3 me, 1/3 bofurs_wife, and 1/3 alcohol 
> 
> I actually wrote it with them back in August and forgot about it but....for being pretty hammered it came out pretty nice! 
> 
> again I'm putting this up because I said I would do happy and dammit I've been doing too much sad lately 
> 
> (sorry for the lack of proper footnotes in this one I did it on google docs very drunk rip)


	2. one of the most precious gifts of Nature to man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Crowley is sent looking for a plant that may or may not actually exist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> smart me: you should be writing your chapter fic  
dumbass me: you right  
smart me: but you're not gonna  
dumbass me: :) 
> 
> see end for translations

“You know what would be rather nice? If  _ someone  _ were to buy me some silphium.” Aziraphale stated, out of the blue at another of their excursions to the Ritz. The two of them had had those quite a lot lately, ever since the Apocalypse-That-Wasn’t. While normally they had been reserved for special occasions, often months or years in between each one, now the angel and the demon had become almost regulars. The wait staff was really starting to recognize them, and Crowley was slowly getting used to the mortifying ordeal of being known (not in the way that that particular quote intended however). 

Crowley raised an eyebrow at the emphasis on ‘someone,’ and having the time (six thousand years in fact) to study and put to memory every single one of Aziraphale’s intricate ticks and habits, he knew that the angel was talking about him. “Oh really?” he questioned, waiting for Aziraphale to elaborate. He recalled the word silphium, though for the life of him couldn’t remember its meaning. Having lived for so long, words came and went, fads went in and out of style; it made sense that this particular one eluded him. “And why’s that?” 

Now here was where Aziraphale hesitated. The truth was that their relationship had changed somewhat in the past few months, changing from an arm's length arrangement into perhaps something more. Nothing that the two could label quite yet, but nonetheless different to what it was before. He had no issues talking to Crowley about that particular subject. No, where he had reservations was admitting that it being close to Valentine's Day, the sight of people receiving flowers increased tenfold. And he was starting to feel a bit put out due to being excluded from that tradition.

  
“Oh, it’s just a thought,” Aziraphale said in his ‘don’t mind me, but still definitely mind me’ sort of tone. “I was just thinking back to Rome. Those flowers were quite the delicacy in those days.” 

“But not anymore?” asked Crowley, in the midst of meticulously taking mental notes. Flowers, flowers he could deal with. He couldn’t consider himself an absolute expert on the subject, as he preferred non flowering plants in his own flat (flowering plants were less susceptible to his intimidation tactics. Far too stubborn). But he knew some of the best plant shops in London, how hard could it be to find a bunch of silphium? 

“No, I believe it has gone out of fashion. Can’t imagine why, as the sap was to die for,” Aziraphale hummed with pleasure at the thought. “Plus their seeds are shaped like hearts! Not physical hearts like the ones you find in your body, the more...artistic type. And I just find that absolutely darling.” With enough prodding about flowers and hearts, would it still be wishful thinking for Crowley to, as the people of this century say, ‘get the hint?’ 

“Well,” Crowley started, already knowing he was doomed to follow whatever the angel’s whims were. Aziraphale was dreadfully spoiled, and frankly it was Crowley’s fault. “I was probably gonna pop into a shop later this week for a new sapling. One of the other ones couldn’t cut it and well...y’know.” The demon made a movement across his throat that Aziraphale winced at. “So I could see if they’ve got any of that stuff you want.” 

“Oh really?” Aziraphale’s smile practically lit up the room (in fact a few couples a few tables over from them complained about the sudden brightness of the lights and asked for them to be dimmed). “If it’s no trouble, of course.” 

“Whatever you want, angel.” A Crowley six months ago would’ve said something along the lines of ‘can’t promise you anything’ or ‘flowering plants are such a hassle,’ but the Crowley now didn’t quite feel the need to hide himself under excuses. 

In fact the nearest shop in Mayfair closed at 9 PM. With any luck he could have his errand done tonight. 

-

“So what you’re saying is, you don’t carry it,” Crowley asked the shopkeep. Perhaps asked was not the correct term; more like dejectedly groaned. This was the tenth shop this week he had been to, and all had said the same thing: ‘sorry sir, I’m afraid you’re out of luck.’ Three shops had never even heard of the damn thing, and two of them gave him a look as if he had grown three heads (which he had done before, but not at this moment, thank you very much). 

“No, sir, I’m afraid not.” The shopkeep motioned to other selections around her shop. “We do have several other types that could suit your needs?” 

“Nah sorry, I got a request and he’s...very particular.” Crowley had been avoiding the angel’s calls for a few days now. He felt bad ignoring the poor bastard, but the last thing he needed to hear was the disappointed ‘oh...well thank you for trying I suppose.’ Yes it had been ten shops and yes all of those trips had ended in unmitigated disaster, but at this point he was determined to get it done and get it done right. 

Aziraphale had mentioned Rome. Maybe it was time he go to the source. 

-

It had been decades since Crowley had been on the continent. Not that he didn’t like the culture or anything, just business kept him in London and therefore he stayed in London. He wasn’t sure what was keeping him now that he was ‘out of business’ so to speak, but this wild goose chase over a flower was starting to put him off a bit. 

‘Sorry Italy, I bet you’re lovely otherwise,’ he thought steaming (both literally and figuratively with this horrid heat). He still had a few missed calls from Aziraphale, but what was he supposed to tell him? ‘Sorry I’m a right arse and can’t find a simple plant’? Absolutely not. Besides, Aziraphale would probably chastise him for going to Italy without him. 

He was starting to run out of places to go that spoke English, and while he spoke Italian, it was rusty at best. Italians were nicer than the French, but quiet judging was universal. 

“Buongiorno signore!” A burly Italian man greeted him as he entered shop number thirty four of his adventure. It was so full of charm, that even Crowley couldn’t manage to hide a small smile as he waved back to him. 

“Buongiorno. Mi dispiace, sono inglese.” The man laughed at that. Nothing like a little self depreciation to get a conversation going. If Crowley hadn’t invented that, he was surely taking credit for it. He was the expert. “Sto cercando qualcosa.” 

The owner gestured around his stand, filled to the brim with lots of beautiful flowers of all shapes and colors. Crowley was able to recognize almost all of them, so this was already looking like a lost cause. “Sii più specifico, signore,” he said with his wide grin. “Ne ho molti tra cui scegliere.”

Crowley had to think for a moment. Was there an Italian equivalent to the plant he was looking for? The name was Latin, and the two languages were not  _ that  _ far removed. It had only been a few centuries, maybe the man could understand what he was getting at. “Hai...silphium?” 

It didn’t take long for the man to start laughing, and frankly Crowley was getting quite tired of that reaction. “Signore, sei molto divertente!” the man said in between hyperventilating giggles. This was the breaking point, he had traveled across a continent and even in Rome they were giving him no answers. He was determined, but there was only so much his determination could take. 

“Non importa,” the demon said testily, walking away from the stand in shame. He could see the disheartened face on his angel now, the ‘but I was so looking forward to it’ type phrase he would say. The best Crowley could do now was offer a consolation prize, even if the thought of it felt like his pride was being stabbed multiple times. 

A first class ticket back to London miraculously ended up in his pocket. He had a long flight to think about what to do. 

-

In a bookshop in Soho, an angel was wringing his hands nervously. 

Aziraphale had been trying to call Crowley for almost two weeks now, and he was so desperately worried he had offended him. Perhaps he had come on too strong? Their relationship had changed, yes, but it was a slow process and need not be rushed. In fact wasn’t it he himself who said so in 1967? 

Or even worse, Crowley was thinking that the angel had played a terrible trick on him. Surely after looking for it for a few hours he would find out the truth. It wasn’t Aziraphale’s intention to send him on a fool’s errand, living for millennia tended to muddle the mind that way. 

“I should call him one more time,” he said to himself, counting the number of calls up to sixteen. He didn’t want to seem too desperate, but at this point he was starting to feel anxious. Not a very pleasant feeling at all. 

Just as he was about to dial the number, the bell rang signaling someone had entered the bookshop. What rotten timing this customer had! “We’re closed!” he shouted, remembering that he had not set the sign to closed and was therefore not closed at all. 

“Aziraphale, it’s me,” said a voice coming closer to the backroom. The angel’s face immediately brightened at the recognizable sound. He rushed out of the backroom to find a sheepish looking demon with his hands behind his back. Aziraphale took this as a sign of nervousness, but for completely different reasons. 

“Oh Crowley, you absolutely must forgive me.” 

Crowley blinked a few times, hardly moving an inch. “Uh...okay? That was supposed to be  _ my line,  _ but uh...go on?” 

“Right, well,” Aziraphale continued. “What with how long we live and all, sometimes it’s easy to get confused on all manner of things. For example, the time I called that contraption a velocipede when it actuality was a…was a…” 

“Bicycle,” Crowley assisted. 

“Yes, bicycle! The point is the slang changed, and I wasn’t aware they weren’t using that particular term anymore, so I just...said what I remembered! You understand?” 

“...Angel, what are you trying to say?” 

Aziraphale cleared his throat, even having the audacity to flush a little. “Silphium was overused in the Roman Empire, Crowley. Supply couldn’t meet demand, and well...I suppose in a way it went ‘out of stock’?” Crowley stared at the angel incredulously. 

“So what you’re saying is,” he started slowly, trying to keep from either laughing or crying as he didn’t know which of the two would come out first. “You sent me out looking for...an  _ extinct  _ plant??” 

“Precisely, and I am so terribly sorr⎼” 

“An  ** _extinct _ ** plant, you are  _ kidding  _ me, angel. I-I went to Italy to search for it!” One of the emotions was starting to peek out from under the surface, and Crowley thanked his lucky stars it was laughter. “I had people laugh at me for two weeks, and now I  _ finally  _ know why!” He couldn’t help but let one little chuckle out at the ridiculousness of the situation. Aziraphale started to join him, eager for the change in mood. 

“Well, I tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t answer your mobile!” Crowley thought back to the sixteen missed calls; all of them would’ve saved them the headache. “Honestly, you are too much,” Aziraphale sighed. “Though...I appreciate the attempt to go looking for it. It was very thoughtful of you.” The soft smile the angel gave him meant it was Crowley’s turn to flush a little. 

“Y-yeah, I guess,” Crowley mumbled, embarrassed. “And it wasn’t completely in vain!” He finally moved his hands from behind his back, revealing a beautiful bouquet of yellow roses. “They’re not quite silphium. But they’re yellow and Roman so...close enough?” 

The fond look Aziraphale gave the demon,  _ his  _ demon, rivaled even the look he gave him in the midst of the Blitz. He gingerly took them, holding them close to his heart. 

“I suppose they’ll have to do.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was for the ineffable valentines prompt list  
the prompt for today was roses! I only mention them once but it counts 
> 
> Italian translations  
Buongiorno signore!-Good day, sir!  
Buongiorno. Mi dispiace, sono inglese.--Good day. I'm sorry, I'm English  
Sto cercando qualcosa-I'm looking for something  
Sii più specifico, signore-Be more specific, sir  
Ne ho molti tra cui scegliere-I have many to chose from  
Hai...silphium?-Do you have...silphium? (TN: There is actually an Italian equivalent 'silfio' but seeing as Crowley has only spoken that word in Latin, he probably wouldn't know it)  
Signore, sei molto divertente!-Sir, you are very funny! 
> 
> not much history but I like making notes so here we go  
1\. Silphium was a plant that was used in Ancient Greece, Rome, and part of Egypt (that were occupied but who else but Greece and Rome lol). We're not quite sure exactly what they looked like, as they seem to have gone extinct in the first century BC. Basically we know that they were yellow, had heart shaped seeds, and were used as a cure all and a contraceptive. Hence why they probably went extinct lol. There's a theory though that it's still around as a plant we know BECAUSE we didn't know what it looked like in the Roman era.  
2\. Sorry to the French people I made fun of in one sentence of this fic, I'm speaking from experience. Aka one trip to France and one trip to Italy. I'm American and terrible pls forgive me.  
3\. The line about the 'mortifying ordeal of being known' is in reference to me becoming a regular at a restaurant. When they started calling me by name I stopped going lol   
4\. the title is a direct quote from Pliny the Elder about the plant in his Natural History encyclopedia 
> 
> I probably will not complete all the prompts on this list, my mental health simply won't allow it. I might do a couple more if any more ideas strike me though!


End file.
